Goldshield
by The-Lady-Isis
Summary: A/U ending to The Golden Army. Nuada wins and begins his war on mankind - it is not long before the resistance begins. One woman leads it. The name her troops give her is the antithesis of everything Silverlance is: Goldshield. I own nothing.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is the new Hellboy fanfic! Don't worry if you're following my other one, I am not abandoning **_**Earth****, but this popped into my head and wouldn't go away.**_** Enjoy! **

**Goldshield Chapter One - Rumour**

Goldshield.

It's always whispered. Always in fear, lest speaking her name too loud bring the demon bitch herself down upon you.

Some say she towered over everything she saw, terrifyingly huge, ugly and scarred and brutal. Others claim she was beautiful, but with the venom of a spider in her kiss, a seductress, cold and deadly.

She has become a tool, now, the ogre to keep wayward fay younglings from mischief. _"Don't wander, or Goldshield will get you!" _their mothers hiss. It is enough to bring a frisson of fear to any child, no matter how old, and the name stops them in their tracks.

This is why no one trusts completely the Diamond Princess, despite her noble paternity. It is not her fault – yet anyone with that monster for a mother is tainted by her. The princess tries, and among some she is succeeding. But still they wait. They wait for the moment when Goldshield's blood rears in the Diamond Princess, for the day that dawns red once more.

Goldshield. Always in fear.

* * *

Goldshield.

It's always whispered. Always with reverence, because no one has the right to recall an angel from Heaven. Not least an angel who had worked so hard to earn her place there.

Some say she was a small, slight woman, too frail to be a soldier – in the old days she'd have been a dancer. Others claim that tragedy burnt a scorch-mark across her soul, but that she had the spirit of Churchill in her. Never surrender.

She is a deity in her own right now, the goddess of war and diplomacy together. A paradox, but what else is to be expected of a combination of a woman and the divine? She has become a symbol, of hope against impossible odds. _"If you are ever stranded, alone and in the dark, give your prayers to Goldshield." _It is a mantra that is instilled into every human child. When all hope is lost, Goldshield will never fail you.

This is why the Diamond Princess is trusted, despite her dubious paternity. She is, by virtue of her mother, divine – anyone with an angel as a mother could never be anything less than the saviour of mankind. Some do not trust her, that much is true – though she is trying. The Diamond Princess will inherit Goldshield's strength, and for that they wait, for the day that dawns bright once more.

Goldshield. Always with reverence.

* * *

Of course, none of these things are true. Here is what _is _true:

She was born Genevieve Harrison, to Steven and Louise Harrison.

She has three clear memories before she was five – and then the war came.

She is one of the Fifteen.

She was six years old when she killed for the first time.

She is the mother of the Diamond Princess.

She was the nemesis of Silverlance.

She was the lover of Silverlance.

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: Thank you to the people who reviewed! **

**Chapter One**

The pixie held it in for as long as it could, but eventually the pain proved too much; its sharpened teeth tore a bloody chunk from its lip as it screamed.

The branding iron was lifted away. "The location - _now_!"

Still the thing remained silent. The red-hot metal descended once again. The human translator turned away with his hand over his mouth, dashing for the doorway. He was blocked by someone coming in.

"Going somewhere, Professor?" a cool female voice asked.

"General, surely I don't have to be here to see this!" he protested.

"Actually," a hand grasped his shoulder firmly and turned him back to the scene of torture, "you do. That thing is not human, doctor. That thing knows something we need to know, and it's not talking. And you're the translator. So as soon as it starts talking, you start translating. Understand?"

The man had been a professor of ancient language in the old world - that made him valuable even in the new. So, faced with the hard gaze of Goldshield, he nodded. "Alright. I understand."

"Good." She looked past him to where the torture was continuing. She motioned for the brand to be lifted. "How long can you keep this up before it dies?"

"Not long," Lieutenant Stanner said. "It's fading."

"Then stop."

The translator lifted his head, hope dawning across his face. Was this the same Goldshield? Was this the woman who had shown no remorse when ordering the burning of Glastonbury? The bombing of Machu Picchu? She was showing..._mercy_?

Stanner seemed scarcely less amazed. "General?"

She looked impassively at the panting and bleeding pixie. "Begin again tomorrow, after it's had some time to heal." She walked over to the creature, grabbing a handful of red hair. With a yank and a yelp of pain, she dragged the head up, putting her face close to its smaller one. "Understand me, pixie. This will never end. Even if you decide never to tell us, I will make sure you are in agony every second of your immortal life. Unless you give me what I need."

The pixies bright green eyes were swimming in tears, but nakedly broken. It struck the professor that Goldshield's gaze was perversely the same colour. Then the pixie nodded. A voice issued from its mouth; a tone that was trembling in pain.

Goldshield looked at her translator. "Professor?"

Before the war, Ancient Gaelic had been a hobby he'd dabbled in. He'd taught Ancient Latin and Greek at Brown University. Now he focused primarily on Gaelic. He had no choice. It was the main language of the enemy. There were rumours that Goldshield was learning Elvish, though no one knew how. It was the language of the magickind high command. Pushing aside the complexities of his commander, the professor focused on what the pixie was whimpering.

"Màs é do thoil é!" it gasped. "Màs é do thoil é!"

He winced, knowing that if he held a weapon in his hands he would have ended this poor creatures misery. So did Goldshield, which was exactly why she had ordered no translator be armed. Conscious of the general shifting behind him, he focused on what she wanted to know.

"Where is the attack to take place?" he asked. "Just tell me and I promise I will help you."

"Conas?" it asked. "_Conas_?"

"Bás," he said quietly. "Tapaidh bás."

With a sob, the pixie began to speak. It had the strength for no more than a minute before its strength failed. But the professor had Goldshield's answer. "Tehran," he said. "The attack will be on Tehran."

"How many?" she demanded. "What's the target? Are they coming by air, sea? Land?"

He related the questions to the pixie. Its clouded eyes were now completely dull; he didn't think it was breathing. It gave one last exhalation. "Muir..."

Goldshield shoved past him and lifted the pixie up by its throat. "How _many_?!" she yelled, shaking it.

It was too late; it flopped in her grasp, either unconscious or dead. She dropped it with a disgusted noise. From the groan it made as it hit the concrete floor of the cell, the translator guessed it was still alive. His heart twisted in sympathy.

"General, please-"

She waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. It's told us everything it's going to anyway. Stanner," she nodded.

Conscious of ammunition wastage, Stanner only used one bullet. The professor breathed a sigh of relief. Goldshield's eyes didn't miss it. "What did it tell you?"

"He- It said the sea. But it didn't say anything about numbers or possible targets."

The muscles in her jaw bunched momentarily, then she beckoned to Stanner. They marched out of the cell without another look to the dead pixie, talking in a rapid undertone.

He watched them go with hatred. Hatred of them, hatred of his job. Hatred of this world.

* * *

"Who's closest?"

"General Touma," he said. "The Riyadh Bunkers. He also has the third battalion with him."

"How soon can he get to Iran?" she demanded.

"They have choppers to get them to the Persian Gulf, and then it'll be a short journey across to Iran. It'll have to be trucks from there."

"They're _coming _by sea," she growled.

"It's still the fastest way," he said. "Otherwise we'd have to go through Kuwait and Iraq."

She sighed in frustration. It was faster to travel by air, but safer by land. The sky was full of dragons, but for the last few years their migrating patterns had seen them centre around the Far East; dragon courtship rituals could go on for months. Apparently it was quite beautiful to watch. A dance of flame and wings in the air. Goldshield was in no way inclined to ever see it. If she had her way she'd rip the scales one by one off every one of them.

On the land there were more of the enemy that could attack any convoy, but thankfully they were weaker than dragons. Still, with thirty year old cars and tanks they wouldn't go anywhere fast.

She nodded shortly. "Air and water it is. Stanner, get to MTAC, dispatch the orders."

"Yes, General." He began to walk away, then stopped. "Ma'am? Do you think... Will he be there?"

Goldshield stared into the middle distance. Silverlance. He knew how important the nuclear power that Tehran provided was to them, he knew that the oil reserves were dangerously low. He knew that they were running out of time to end this war on favourable terms. Destroying Tehran could only hasten their defeat. If the bastard intended to lead the attack himself, then she would have to be there. She wanted to be there.

"No," she said finally. "He won't be there. It's the solstice in three days. Holy day for them. He'll be in Bethmora."

"So Antrim?" Stanner asked heavily.

Goldshield gritted her teeth. "He's probably somewhere in Belfast right now." _Or what's left of it. _

That wasn't much. Belfast - her home - had been the first major city the Golden Army had decimated. She was one of only fifteen people, out of almost three hundred thousand, who had survived. Her parents hadn't been so lucky. The idea of that _monster _being in _her _city was maddening. Then again, the idea of him existing anywhere was the same. It was why she'd never stop. Why she'd hunt him until she was a hundred years old. Why, if she couldn't get him, she'd go after every single one of his people. He'd massacred billions of hers. It was the least she could do to revisit the favour.

"But, Stanner," she said, "contact Colonel Banik. We'll need Polish help as well to hold the city. They can get there through Turkey."

"Yes, General."

Stanner walked away, and Goldshield made her way outside, heading to her private quarters. She had pixie goop on her hands she wanted to wash off. The bright sunlight was dazzling after the dankness of the cell - she'd never really gotten used to the Australian sun at midday. Or the fact that it was December and she stood in ninety degree heat. It was meant to be raining, and freezing cold. Time had never done anything to remove her longing for Ireland. But that was gone now. Swallowed in magic. Australia was probably their last refuge that was safe from magical attack - mostly. In the chaos that had consumed the world, no one had noticed at first that the huge country was the only one not sending out hopeless cries for aid. The reason for that quickly became apparent - the aboriginal people. Though they had been ravaged and abused by Western cultures, they'd always maintained a stronger link with the natural world - and the mystical one - than almost any other group on Earth. There were rumours of others, in the Amazon jungle, for instance, or Africa. The anger that magical _things _had for the rest of the world hadn't really touched the aborigines, so their homeland was still relatively safe.

After this fact had been discovered by the Resistance, Goldshield had given them a simple choice; fight, get out of Australia, or die. That had been early on in her command - she remembered feeling guilty at that. She no longer did. She no longer thought she was capable of feeling the softer emotions. Rage, contempt, hatred - these were her refuge. War was her domain. She knew how to fight, not to compromise. In a battle such as this, there was either victory or annihilation.

She made her way to her quarters and ran a basin of water, scrubbing her hands free of blood and then quickly rinsing her face. Then there was a hammering at the door. The standard practice was that no one knocked; it wasted time and slowed communication. It wasn't as if she would be interrupted doing anything personal - there was little time to allow any kind of personal time, and definitely no time for sex.

The boy who burst in was young; under twenty. Most of her troops didn't live beyond twenty five. "General, you're needed in MTAC urgently - there's a message coming in from Poison Province!"

For a moment she stared. "That's impossible."

"I know, General, but we're certain. It _is _coming from America."

Goldshield was still for a second, then shoved past him, running through the complex to MTAC. Stanner was waiting for her, reading the demand on her face. "It's true, General," he said immediately. "We've verified the signal. There are survivors."

Goldshield couldn't help the grin of triumph. _There are survivors_. And if there were survivors of _that _holocaust, then it meant they could win. It meant they would survive. It meant they were invincible. _There are survivors. _

* * *

**A/N: Review please!**


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: There is no possible excuse for how long this has taken me, so please accept my apologies, and enjoy the chapter.  
**

**Chapter Two**

Goldshield moved in front of the video screens, barking at the techies. "Get me a picture."

"Working on it now, General!"

"Work faster."

The sound came through first. "… broadcasting to ... Orleans, please come in this is ... calling New ... -nyone? Anywhere? If you can ... come in!"

Goldshield spoke as one of the technicians gestures for her to begin talking. "This is General Goldshield, commander of the United Human Resistance. You've reached our headquarters – now who are you, and where are you?"

The static on the screens wavered and flickered before a fuzzy picture appeared. The sound began clearer. "– thank God! We thought we were alone out here, we had no idea anyone else had survived, it's been so long since we had any _hope _of a signal, I can't tell you –" The picture came on, flickering to fuzzy life. The man facing her looked to be military, early fifties, grizzled and old before his time. Apparently he could not see her; he was still glancing over his shoulder at his men as he spoke, making similar gestures to those she had been a moment before. "You said you were the commander of the resistance?"

"I did."

He laughed, a little incredulously. "So there _is_ a resistance then?"

"There is; we've divisions all over the world. One more now you're alive again. Where in Poison- America are you? How many people do you know of are alive out there? How have you survived the fallout?" Her voice bullet-pointed the questions, each one stabbing the air perfunctorily. "Are you still being attacked by fae? What weaponry and defences do you have? Is there any–"

"Uh, General, I'm not sure I can answer all of that at once," the man said with a nervous laugh.

Goldshield failed to see what was amusing. "Try."

"I have to refer you back to my own command. Honestly we didn't expect to get through–"

"Who _is _your commanding officer?" she snapped.

"That'd be Colonel Harper. A messenger has been dispatched to him, it shouldn't be too long till he–"

He was already arriving, younger than the one she had been speaking to and better presented; his face clean shaven, hair combed and his uniform neat. Goldshield wore combat fatigues as a matter of course, as did everyone else under her command. This was a fulltime war. But the attitude of this American was promising. He immediately demanded to know how they were talking to, how, and why he couldn't see her.

One of her techies spoke to her. "We're having some trouble with our signal, General – that could be why they're not seeing you."

"Strengthen the signal if you can."

The American now before her saluted. "I hear you're commander of the United Human Resistance, General Goldshield."

"That's correct."

"Colonel Harper, ma'am, at your service."

"I'm glad to hear it. At ease; I don't need formalities, I need information. Can you answer some of my questions?"

"Some of them, yes. We're in an old bunker buried under Wisconsin, or what's left of it. I know of – or _knew _of – eight others dotted around the U.S. The last functioning government had them constructed in a hurry when Europe was going down. Each one holds five thousand people."

Forty thousand. Forty thousand additional soldiers to her cause. Goldshield's mind raced, her heart beating faster. Surely Silverlance could not command the appearance of such numbers. If they could clear out Poison Province, get them all to Australia and into military training … The bright hope of victory reared up, dazzling her and temporarily stealing her voice. Then she realised what he had said, and a cold spike of dread intruded into her vision. "You said you 'knew' of eight others? Why the past tense?"

"We lost contact with the New Orleans bunker almost two weeks ago."

"Why?"

"No idea. They just went dark."

Definitely not good. And it was one sign of a magical attack; communication was blocked or the people bewitched into simply not fighting. Harper obviously did not recognise the critical situation he found himself in.

"We're looking into gathering the resources for an expedition now, but radiation suits are hard to come by nowadays."

"Leaving that bunker is the last thing you should do," she said. "New Orleans has gone dark because they are all dead; the fae have attacked them. You and the remaining seven bunkers are all in mortal danger. Get word to them, get any and all defences you have in place, and put yourselves into lockdown."

"What? How can you know–?"

"I recognise the signs. Colonel, it is _very _possible that he's coming."

"Who?"

The question was so unexpected that for a moment _Goldshield _did not know who she meant. There was only one 'he'. There had only ever been one 'he'. One Devil, one demon, one enduring foe for as long as she had a memory. Only one. Perhaps it was going to be harder than she had thought to turn these Americans into her weapons. "Silverlance. He cannot afford for forty thousand new humans to suddenly exist."

"Silverlance … do we have an intel file on someone named Silverlance?" Harper asked one of his men.

"Uh, sort've, sir. But it's sketchy. The name was mentioned a lot before the nuclear launch."

"Silverlance is Nuada Silverlance, the Prince of Bethmora, purger and destroyer of humanity," Goldshield bit out. "He was the one who resurrected the Golden Army, and he is the one who has united all of fae-kind against the rest of us. And if Silverlance gets there before I do, then you're all dead."

The certain finality in her voice stopped all the Americans at their work, and they all looked where Harper was looking, regardless of whether they could see her or not. "You're coming here?" Harper asked.

"Yes. Getting America safely evacuated is now the most important task the UHR has to complete. Transmit your coordinates to us, along with any others you have. If they get there first then you fight like hell. Hold on, don't be afraid – we're coming for you."

She turned to her communications officers. "Get their position. Stanner, find out how many men we can afford to send to Poison Province for the evacuation."

"Going yourself?"

She nodded. Wherever she went, Stanner went too; she had never assigned herself a bodyguard, but he had acted as one for years. If he hadn't been a comrade, then 'servant' might have been the right word. He never left her side if he could help it.

"Board won't like it."

"Let me worry about the board."

Sure enough, the board _didn't _like it.

"Sending even half a dozen men into that toxic wasteland would be too many!"

"We have radiation suits."

"For a few hundred people! Not for the army that it would take to evacuate all those people, and certainly not one for every one of them. It would be suicide, and if the radiation count isn't so high that it kills us immediately, it would shorten lifespans by years."

"Yes, because having our lifespans shortened is a major problem when the entire globe is an active warzone," Goldshield retorted. The council member facing her raised an eyebrow, and she sighed sharply. "I apologise for the sarcasm."

The board was comprised of ten members, of which Goldshield was only one. Technically she was the chairwoman, but there were also politicians of the old world, medical experts, other military personnel of the air forces and navies, as well as a few civilian representatives. Mainly they went along with her plans, left with no other option. However right now, there was another option, and they were all striving hard for it. Apart from Admiral Yamada and Air Marshal Gardiner, who agreed with her that more resources were not something they could afford to pass up.

"We are having enough trouble holding Tehran. Opening another front in Poison Province would be suicide. We do not have the manpower or the resources to make it a successful operation, especially not if they are already under attack."

"That they're under attack is why we have to take action now," Goldshield pointed out. "There could be thirty thousand people there, more. We cannot possibly allow them to die when we have the power to save them. Do you, any of you, have any idea what we could do with thirty thousand more troops? The fae wouldn't have a chance at victory after that!"

"There are other ways to achieve peace," one of the civilian members said timidly.

"We tried that before, if you remember," she replied coldly. "A delegation of fifty diplomats who were welcomed into Bethmora by Silverlance, for peace talks. A delegation of fifty diplomats who were then murdered in the most brutal fashion before they could speak a word. I and others like me advised against that, and we were ignored. Don't ignore me now."

"It's … it's just unsustainable."

"Fighting this war _without _them is unsustainable! We are losing, and we're losing because we've forgotten how to simply survive as much as anything else! These people _have _survived, against everything Silverlance and their own foolishness threw at them. We need them to teach us as much as we need their numbers to destroy the fae-kind. Added to that, their numbers outmatch us five to one. In a few years the skies will be so thick with dragons no aircraft will be able to move. We _cannot _give them that chance."

"I suppose … more people would help us rebuild, afterwards."

Goldshield could not think of an afterwards. There was nothing but this conflict. There had never been anything but this. "I couldn't care less if they all end up dead, as long as they help us defeat Silverlance doing it."

No one frowned at her attitude; they were all too used to it by now. She meant what she said, heartless as it was, but she also got results. She had always got results. Humanity was safer under Goldshield than it had been in decades.

"Alright," Admiral Yamada said, "all those in favour of helping the people in Poison Province?"

Goldshield gritted her teeth. She didn't _need _the council's approval; their role was purely ceremonial. They were there to offer her advice, should she seek it, and then to obey her like the good little citizens they were. But reminding them of their own irrelevancy probably would not help matters right now. Some of the people liked to keep hold of their traditions, however illusionary they might be. Most of them were happy to put their faith in her name and the legends that went with it.

They all voted in her favour, apart from the health experts. "Eight votes to two."

Goldshield pushed away from the table. "More than enough. Excuse me, I have a rescue operation to plan."

Gardiner and Yamada came with her, and they and their personnel fell immediately into logistics. "Our primary objective can't be to rescue the people. As long as they're in their bunkers, they're safe. There's a problem when it comes to getting them out because of the radiation, but we'll cross the bridge when we come to it. The problem is the attack that is already underway."

No one pointed out there was no proof of this attack. They had all come to trust in Goldshield's instincts implicitly.

"Colonel Harper said that New Orleans had gone?"

"Yes."

"Then we have two possibilities," Yamada said, "either they've come by water, in which case the Mississippi River would be the best route for them to take, or by air."

"But the dragons are still above China and Japan," Gardiner said. "According to our last verified reports, their mating rituals are only about halfway done."

"And how old are those reports?"

"Almost a month."

Goldshield frowned. Not good enough, by far, but also better than nothing. They had to just hope that the dragons were still out of the picture. And she hated no word more than she hated _hope_. Except maybe faith. "We assume they came in by the river then, and attacked with land troops from there. Obviously we'll need ships for the evacuation, but for now we take the air force we can, repel the attack."

"How? We have no idea where they are."

"The Americans should have given us better intel by now on the layout of the land – Stanner?"

He handed her a data sheet which she scanned through. It gave the exact coordinates of the New Orleans bunker, as well as the others and a rough inventory of their weapons. "Something strike you as odd?"

She looked at it again. "No nukes."

"Not one left in America. Apparently."

"Hmm. We'll see about that."

After the people were out, of course. One of those weapons could utterly obliterate Bethmora after all. Not something they could afford to leave rotting underground somewhere. There was little chance of them developing or salvaging another one anywhere else. The other nuclear arsenals were either deep in enemy territory, or had been destroyed. No one could accuse Silverlance of not learning. After Poison Province had destroyed his Golden Army, he had destroyed every nuclear weapon he'd come across. Another reason Tehran was so important. Iran had never managed to produce a nuclear weapon in the old days, before the Golden Army attacked. But they had the facilities for nuclear enrichment. So did North Korea – but the Far East was off limits to anyone human. Really, to anyone not dragon; they were fiercely territorial when mating.

"We'll fly high altitude recon flights above the eastern states. From New Orleans, the nearest bunkers are in Missouri and Virginia. Silverlance could send his troops in either direction. I'm inclined to think Virginia is in the greatest danger though."

"Why? If they came up the Mississippi," Yamada said, "then it makes sense for them to sweep westward and up to the north before coming east again. Less chance of them missing any people."

"Yes, but Silverlance is coming from Bethmora. They'll head to his easiest access point, here," she said, finger stabbing on the Potomac River. "Assuming they know exactly where the other bunkers are."

"If they sacked the New Orleans one properly then they would have found coordinates. Might take some time to translate them though. Fae have no idea how to read maps."

Everyone smiled at the jibe except Goldshield. Her green eyes had gone distant, dark in the overhead lights. They all knew where her thoughts had gone. It was obvious in the way her muscles had tensed, the way her mouth had tightened. The way she had suddenly been crafted of stone. To say she was focused on killing Silverlance would be a gross under-estimation. He was her obsession. Even Stanner, who knew her as well as anyone could claim to, suspected he did not know how much of her mind worked furiously toward that goal. Every moment was consumed by the thought of killing him. In his darkest suspicions, Stanner thought she did not even care if humanity won the war. She certainly did not care about personally surviving it. Just as long as _her_ war ended with her blade buried in the elf's gut.

"We go in by air. Yamada, send as many ships as you can across the Pacific, and we'll send updates as to our position when we can. Gardiner, what troop carriers do you have?"

* * *

**A/N: I doubt I have any right to ask, but ... review please! **


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